


Return to Casterlyrock

by thedarkeuphie



Category: A Song of Ice and Fire - George R. R. Martin, Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Arranged Marriage, F/M, swordswoman Sansa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-01-31
Updated: 2017-03-23
Packaged: 2018-09-21 01:59:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 5
Words: 4,842
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/9526868
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/thedarkeuphie/pseuds/thedarkeuphie
Summary: Brynden Tully had followed Lysa out of not only fear for his nieces mental and emotional state but also because he'd been angry with Hoster for what he'd done to her, but he was pretty certain Lysa had been passed the point of no return for a good while and wasn't too sure he wanted to see that particular coin drop.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [Doom_Cookie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doom_Cookie/gifts), [AllTheDances](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheDances/gifts), [Tommyginger](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Tommyginger/gifts), [BlueEyesBlueSkies](https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyesBlueSkies/gifts).
  * Inspired by [Return to Riverrun](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5232422) by [AllTheDances](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheDances/pseuds/AllTheDances). 
  * Inspired by [Return to King's Landing](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5232461) by [AllTheDances](https://archiveofourown.org/users/AllTheDances/pseuds/AllTheDances). 
  * Inspired by [Prompt fills](https://archiveofourown.org/works/5808196) by [Doom_Cookie](https://archiveofourown.org/users/Doom_Cookie/pseuds/Doom_Cookie). 



> I don't own either series, if I did many a thing would be different.
> 
> Before anyone complains about me stealing this premise or story I did ask ATD and Doom_Cookie if I could continue on with both, but with my own twists and turns involved. 
> 
> With that I hope you enjoy the ride and yes this is a multi chapter fic, I'm just lazy and didn't want to hit another button.

Brynden Tully had followed Lysa out of not only fear for his nieces mental and emotional state but also because he'd been angry with Hoster for what he'd done to her, but he was pretty certain Lysa had been passed the point of no return for a good while and wasn't too sure he wanted to see that particular coin drop. Sansa was a different story though, the girl may have had the Tully looks and Hoster's political understanding but underneath all the red hair and deep blue eyes ,that shown Stark grey when angered, was a steel backbone that not even Minisa had possessed and his good-sister could be down right intimidating. No he wasn't accompanying a weak and distraught child but rather a woman-child who was stuck in-between and held herself with more dignity than most adults twice her age. He knew what Lord Tywin had seen in Sansa and was rather grateful for it too, she hid her aptitude from Cat rather well but Sansa gave certain tells that spoke of her time in Kings Landing, that of a survivor, and it was that talent and strength that had led Tywin Lannister to accept the marriage proposal.

He'd also come for two other reasons, different as the reasons were, and he'd been duty bound to accept. The smile he'd caught Sansa give The Old Lion had given Cat cause to worry and he'd promised her that he'd report if anything was amiss in the marriage and try his damnedest to protect Sansa. He wasn't sure why Cat worried so much because that smile had given him all the knowledge he needed to know about where the two stood with one another and was more than happy to give them space but still with what Cat had been through to that point he was more than willing to comply.

The second had come from the bride herself and it had been wholly unexpected, she wanted to pick up sword training again and she wished for him to be her primary tutor, with Lord Tywin's approval of course. When he'd confronted Cat on the matter the night before departure, Sansa wouldn't speak a word before leaving Riversrun, it turned out that it hadn't been Arya who had inherited his and Lady Lyanna's sword prowess but Sansa and whilst the girl had never really enjoyed the art had excelled in every lesson she partook in.

To say he was shocked was an understatement and he'd have to wait for a good week before seeing for himself just how much weight this news carried. Ned hadn't been as political minded as Hoster, which is why the man lost his head, but he could hold a secret. He supposed if there were something Sansa had gained from the man it was her ability to gain and keep secrets, only she had enough brains to know when to use them and with whom. The talent she possessed would have made her more of an outcast and a ripe target for those who wished ill upon her, so waiting until she felt more secure in her situation wasn't too surprising.

Finding her a proper blade would prove an issue until she gained some of her muscle-tone back, inactivity tended to waste it away, so until then her lessons had to wait. She had admitted that she knew little of what a well made sword felt like, for no training blade was ever a proper fit, and wished to see what he thought would be best suited for her. Normally he wouldn't have concerned himself with Tywin Lannister's opinion but the man knew his niece better than he did so asking the Lannister might help him gauge just what type would suit her best.

"Your guess is as good as mine Black Fish," the gruff Lord stated, "I didn't have a clue she could do such a thing," The man must have known Sansa was hiding something, it likely wasn't of this nature however.

"With the exception of those who were closest to them I doubt any one did," he really wanted to smack the man right about now, that was besides the fucking point, "I mean you know her personality better than most I'd assume," 'even better than Cat' he admitted if only to himself.

"You're looking for a compromise of sorts I assume," he nodded a bit. That was obvious otherwise he wouldn't have entered the mans study, "Then I would suggest a water dancer's rapier and a short broadsword."

"To capitalize on her speed and the broadsword for a wider range of knowledge and skill," he liked the idea, "metals?"

"Valyrian," so Qohor it was then, "Take the Stark ancestral sword with you," he gave the man a raised brow, "the sword is large enough for two to three swords. Half will be crafted into her rapier whilst the other will be sent to my good-brother," he could concede the point. Did he agree? No, "if enough material is left over then it will go toward her broadsword, steel if nothing is leftover."

"Is the smith coming here or am I headed to Qohor?" he hated sailing, odd for a trout he knew but motion sickness did not wane with age.

"They'll be coming here," he stated, "I don't like the idea of it getting stolen," and with that he turned leaving Brynden with Ice in hand.


	2. Smile

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> It was then he swore to protect the reason for that smile.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Yeah don't ask where this came from because I'm not one hundred percent certain myself.

Jaime wasn't used to being at a disadvantage, but here he was losing to the 'child', if he could call her that any longer, of a stepmother. He hadn't expected the missive his father had sent him three months ago, but he'd accepted because Cersei had become unbearable as of late, if he'd known what this would be the end result he'd have turned him down.

Sure he liked the idea of her not being a total burden on his father, at least she could defend herself if need be, but he hadn't expected to be humiliated in such a way. At first he won their bouts, he was younger than Blackfish and his father wanted to wait a bit longer, but as time went on she began to win and that hadn't sat well with him; most especially with the _way_ she was winning.

She didn't use just one blade, oh no, no, no, she wielded two at a damned time. The broadsword for blocking and the rapier for attacking, a style most wouldn't know how to handle, her speed taken full advantage of. She'd only wanted to 'try' the style on him when she realized he was just as graceful and fast as herself, it wasn't until not a few days later that he realized his mistake in letting her try at all and he'd thought that he'd been prodigal with swordplay. Beginner his ass, he'd believe that when the fabled Others the Northerners told tales of proved true, she processed things far too quickly to be a beginner. Which is how he'd ended up in the situation he's in now.

"Do you really have to use both?" he asked exhausted. She moved like as though she were literally dancing, her movements elegant and smooth. This style fit her, he supposed, using the fast paced movements to distract her opponent and the use of both blades doubly so. Quick wrist and finger patterns, gained from years of sewing oddly enough, made it almost impossible for him to keep up. To say others such as either Clegane or Baratheons would be left struggling would be understating that. The Flower knight might not have as many issues but most would get confused and bewildered ending the fight before it had every really begun.

"Always" she quipped back with a twirl to his left and her swords defending her right, "besides most men wouldn't hesitate to kill me in a real fight," which was true enough, "why should I not use every skill and tactic I have at my disposal?"

"Because..." he never got to finish.

"I'd kill him if he ever dare try," his father finished instead, "Jaime stand aside I believe it's time I test just how capable she is," he stood there for a moment dumbfounded but recovered after a moment and backed away. Though his tone sounded cold, as was per usual, Jaime could have sworn there were hits of affection and warmth in his father's tone, but then mayhaps he'd lost just a little  _too_ much blood. His father was the type to build or tear them up at a moments notice and this test was likely to see where she, and her hidden aptitude, fell.

"So he finally decided to test her mettle did he?" The Blackfish snarks lightly, watching Sansa eye his father trying to gauge just what she was in for.

"It would appear so," he wondered just how well she'd do against him, "for a bit of perspective," he glanced at the older knight, "how well do you believe she'll do?" his father trained on a regular basis but as far as Jaime knew he hadn't dueled his young wife just yet.

"You want the honest truth?" he asked skeptically. Jaime's firm nod gave him leave, "He'll likely overpower her," and what was he minced liver? "Don't give me that look boy," he raised his hand to whack Jaime across the head, "You're built more like Stafford you are, quick and lithe about like Sansa herself," a smirk graced his features, "Your father on the other hand has enough brains to use that strength against her, I wouldn't be all that surprised if she stumbled a bit," turning his attention back to the pair, "Learning to compensate for that will come with time but for now I'd say she's got about five to ten minutes if she's able to keep that head of hers clear that is."

"You think she'll do that well?"

"Yes," was all the man could get out as the sound of swords clashing was heard.

His father took to the offensive, but of course being that her's was a defensive type of offense so it wasn't all that shocking. Jaime could see the difference in her fluidity, far more rigid and precise showcasing just how much weight this match held and out of her depth she was. She would loose, but if the look of determination she'd adopted was anything to go by then his father was in for one hell of a fight no matter how short it may turn out to be.

Halfway through she'd changed face and began using the mesmerizing and distracting style from earlier; a marked difference from the beginning, the two became more and more absorbed in each other ignoring the world around them as though they really _were_  dancing. The energy and feel of the duel had changed without them noticing. They were flirting without having to utter a word, their body language and energy doing all the talking. Then his father did something he hadn't seen him do in almost thirty year, he smiled; genuinely smiled.

He'd only seen his father act as such once, only the once mind, at his and Cersei's eighth nameday celebration. They'd been dancing and his father smiled, something he detested almost as much as laughing. It was the first and last time he'd seen that smile until now and he understood just how much the girl meant to his father.

It was then he swore to protect the reason for that smile.


	3. Joy Hill

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Mayhaps this wouldn't turn out so bad after all and she'd found a true friend.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Once again I don't have a clue where all this came from... I was originally gonna do a piece on Robb but something about the voice didn't quite fit and this is where I wound up. ¯\\_(ツ)_/¯
> 
> If I recall correctly Joy is only a few years younger than Sansa, so a friendship wouldn't be out of the realm of possibilities.

"What if she doesn't like me?" Joy worried to her Aunt Dorna. Joy didn't usually like girls her age, not that there were many around, but something intrigued her about Uncle Tywin's new wife. Most tended to tease her out of jealousy, Joy wasn't gangly or awkward as they were, or that she was baseborn despite having more privileges and prestige then they. Baseborn she may be but she was still a Lannister, an honor by all accounts.

"Would it matter?" her aunt asked. Aunt Dorna had a point, Joy was a Lannister in all but name so it shouldn't matter and yet every iota of her very being screamed it would be, "She's likely as stuck up as most other highborn girls," of that she wasn't so certain. She'd felt first hand just how cruel Cersei and Joffree could be and it was unlikely that Lady Sansa had escaped that aspect of their personalities, mirror images of malice they were, "Making a good impression upon her won't hurt though."

"I know," that's why she'd asked in the first place. She needed friends her age for most of hers were well into adulthood, someone to be a bit silly with once and a while , for most of hers were well into adulthood.

"Don't forget that you'll likely be her companion," secretly spying on the one person who could alleviate her loneliness oh yes that was a great way to garner a new friend, "Tywin doesn't want you spying on her," she must have said that aloud then... oh well.

"He's never been one to do anything without having an ulterior motive though," she sighs. She's too young for this, this game her uncle dominates at, but she knows as a Lannister, even a baseborn Lannister, she's positioned too high not too and her uncle never did anything by half.

"Though I shall admit that's true," Aunt Dorna walked toward a window, "I couldn't begin to tell you what I speculate he wants," she muttered stopping, "but I do know he's kept you away for a reason," Joy has had her suspicions as to why he'd had her sent to Crakehall, "and it's so you could serve Sansa to the best of your abilities," her brow raised, " _whatever_  that maybe."

"Is that why he had Lord Crakehall assign me a water dancing tutor and have his master of arms teach me all he could?" She'd heard that the Lady Lannister was a much more prodigal swordplayer than even Ser Jaime himself had been, "and given that Ser Marbrand has only just returned with uncle..."

"Yes," she heard a giggle, "It would appear Cersei seriously misjudged this one did she not?" all she could do was nod. To say she hadn't believed the rumors going around was an understatement, especially when letters from Cersei read aloud stated she was a useless twittering bird, _"not as though I believed that either,"_ but to hide a secret of this volume spoke of just how apt she was in many different areas and with Lady Lannister's new status... Cersei was in quite the predicament now.

"She most certainly has hasn't she," her voice held mirth and a bit of satisfaction, "given the change in titles," her aunt's quizzical gaze explained just how confusing this would be for most, including Cersei to see. Outside looking in she supposed, "Prince Tywin Lannister," well if that didn't roll off the tongue.

"I wonder if he'll separate Wardenship and the title he holds in The North or if the responsibilities will be encompassed upon their eldest son?" Joy could see it going either way. For simplicity's sake it would be their eldest son who would inherit the mantle but her uncle could very well split the titles and created two dynasties that were co-dependent upon the other and yet could hold its own if the other should fall.

"Uncle enjoys having the upper hand above all things," she rolled her eyes. That man never took a break, "so he could choose either," she wondered what the princess' thoughts on all this would amount to when time came. With a shake of the head Joy decided now was the time to step a way from the topic, Uncle Tywin was confusing at best and all this talk of politics was beginning to give her a headache, "What do you think she's like?"

"I don't know but for your sake," she turned to face Joy, "I hope she's agreeable enough that you'll become friends," her smile small and reassuring.

"When am I to officially meet with her?"

"Right about now," a voice she did not recognize responded. With a bit of a eep and a noticeable jolt upward Joy stood to see who had joined them. The person that greeted her gaze was not what she'd been expecting in the slightest.

What she'd been expecting was dark hair, cold dark eyes, expressionless elongated face, because that's how most described Lord Stark of being, and short of frame with gangly limbs most youths have and is more than a little shocked that to see a very Tully like Stark instead. Her uncle's wife is tall for a lady their age and not gangly in the slightest, has eyes almost as bright and lively as the Sunset Sea, and while one could see Stark undertones her heart shaped features resemble more of her Tully or Whent lines and her expression sitting somewhere between nervous and anxious.

"My Lady," she bobs a curtsy, she's in to much shock to do much else because the realization that the young woman, for she is no girl, may have very well heard everything they'd said and she'd never noticed. She's about to have one of her panic attacks, she's too stressed...

"You're Tywin's niece Joy correct?" all she can do is nod at the moment, "There's no need to use any titles unless outside of Casterly," her eyes snap to the other's in shock, "We're meant to be friends aren't we?" a playful smirk graces the redheads face.

"Then what shall I call you then?" a little lost.

"My name of course," she gracefully takes the spot next to her, "I'm Sansa," her tone and smile a bit teasing but still warm.

Mayhaps this wouldn't turn out so bad after all and she'd found a true friend.


	4. Genna Lannister

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> A damned near carbon copy of Minisa, both physically and emotionally, Hoster's political mindedness, and with Ned Stark's ability to create a trusting persona and aloofness the lithe red head was a culminating flurry of raging ice and fury, a dazzling if not dangerous work of art indeed.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know that Genna and Minisa didn't know each other but for the sake of this story they did. I also realize Minisa did not die giving birth to Edmure and once again it's for the sake of my story.
> 
> Ages:  
> Genna Lannister  
> D.O.B.: 245  
> Age: 54
> 
> Cleos   
> D.O.B.: 274  
> Age: 25
> 
> Minisa:  
>  D.O.B.: 245   
>  died in 272 at age 27
> 
> Catelyn:  
>  D.O.B.: 264  
>  Age: 35 
> 
> Lysa:  
> D.O.B.: 267   
> Age: 32
> 
> Edmure:  
> D.O.B.: 272  
> Age: 27
> 
> Perianne Frey:  
> D.O.B.: 241  
> Age: 58
> 
> Age difference: Genna and Cleos: 29, Minisa and Catelyn: 19, Minisa and Lysa: 22, Minisa and Edmure: 27
> 
> I'm giving you this information in hopes that it saves you some confusion. Their dates of births, with the exceptions of Cat and Genna, are left to interpretation and this is what I chose.

Genna Frey was given many allowances because of her maiden name, something she had always been thankful for after having to marry that lout Emmon, one of which was being able to stay at The Rock. She had from time to time been called to Riverrun to perform the duties that whichever bride Walder took had been unable to perform, whether it be in a lack of lady or said lady's lack of understanding, their duties toward House Tully. She had to attend the Tully children's christenings because the wives her good-father had chosen knew little on comings and goings of The Riverlands, ' _Walder wonders as to why Lord Hoster did not acknowledge him_ ,' from which bloomed a tentative friendship with Lady Minisa, Lord Tully's wife.

Now under normal circumstances she wouldn't have been the one attending, but given that Lord Walder had little use for female children Perianne Frey knew little of her actual duties and intern those fell to Genna. That crotchety bat felt that since she'd been trained since childhood to know the traditions and stories behind each ruling house that it was easiest to allow such lack of protocols be overlooked. Her having to 'compensate' for these oversights had earned her enough trust to be named Edmure's gods-mother and it was a duty she took seriously. It was a trait not even Tywin questioned, for she protected her charges, most especially Edmure.

Minisa foreseeing trouble on the Horizon, this pregnancy having more complications than Lysa's; out of both fear and desperation Minisa damned near begged her because of what actions Hoster might take should she perish, Genna agreed without hesitation. Hoster held little trust in either Lannister or Frey alike but given how close she and Minisa were he had allowed his wife's wish to stand with Ser Brynden slotted their secondary choice. In a months time Minisa's fears were proven true, she passed not long after birthing a healthy baby boy and Hoster had holed himself up in her quarters. Genna had wanted for Hoster to prove Minisa wrong, that he is stronger than his grief and will not neglect his children and duties, however, it is she who is proven thoroughly wrong.

Around this time she makes a deal with Ser Brynden to keep an open line of communication, because after Mini's death Hoster has barred her from Riverrun, giving the children as balanced of an upbringing given the circumstances. Never a once has she not responded, not even when her own babes are born nor when she had to compensate for Jo's loss. She'd been involved with near every aspect of their lives, even now with the treason her good-father wished to commit. If there was single miscalculation that bastard could have made it was threatening her gods-son, she'd promised Mini and Genna was not in the habit of breaking her word.

With the letter in hand and her anger fueling the steps toward Tywin's solar. The old codger wanted revenge for Tywin standing between him and the one thing he loved most: power. He'd planned on marrying the newly minted princess for the power and affluence he believed the girl possibly held and by Tywin marrying her Walder felt jilted of the opportunity; more so when Roslyn had been allotted Lady Tully, a situation he'd found pleasure with beforehand, rather than Queen of The North.

"Lady Genna if you're headed toward Lord Tywin's solar I would advise waiting a bit longer," Creylen offered a bit skittishly.

"I thank you for the warning Maester," she chuckled with a shake of her head and light turn toward her own apartments. For all of Tywin's love of propriety he had a deviant side and Genna need walk in on him and Jo once for the habit of knocking to be hammered home, their blushes hadn't kept her laughter at bay either, and it he was likely picking up similar habits with his new wife as well.

The Battle of the Five Kings proved bloody with such a limited time frame; new that two fifths of the battling parties had found a way to resolve this conflict had given Genna a touch of serenity. She had though expected her brother to ride through the Lion's Gate with Catelyn beside, Ladyship evening her temper and childish behaviors. To Genna Catelyn seemed the obvious choice what with having whelped five, inherited Minisa's spine of steel and she was the Dowager Queen, a position that gave Tywin some foothold in The North. The person that's standing beside him makes Genna's eyes bug out and not only question his sanity but nearly makes her feint right then.

Sansa Stark, Genna finds, is like a mosaic; where the random tiles don't correlate with an image until the piece is finished. First impressions are deceiving Genna knew but with Sansa making heads or tails was comparable to sailing without a compass. Shy, soft spoken, skittish, and lack of spine was the image that she first met, nothing like her long dead friend, as she became more comfortable the truth began shining through. A damned near carbon copy of Minisa, both physically and emotionally, Hoster's political mindedness, and with Ned Stark's ability to create a trusting persona and aloofness the lithe red head was a culminating flurry of raging ice and fury, a dazzling if not dangerous work of art indeed.


	5. Let Her be a Dragon

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> If Jo had been his equal then Sansa was more than he could ever hope to be.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> It's taken me a while to feel comfortable in writing this because of just how daunting the prospect of doing so for Tywin is, and I really want to hit a home run and do ATD's Tywin justice. I'll be picking and choosing between both traditional and modern wedding gifts to fit what I believe Tywin would gift, because despite everything Tywin is a rather good gifter (when he has to) and whilst not being a sentimental person he does feel and I hope this conveys that.
> 
> I went with my mom to see Beauty and the Beast, Evermore gave me quite the bit of heartache, and I just went from there. Also obtained the information about the meanings behind the stones from Beadage.net, it was interesting gathering my notes for this piece.

Gems despite being minerals or glass were complicated gifts to present someone. His mother had taught each meaning and 'ability' to her children, ensuring gifts presented spoke what each child wished to convey. The last gem he'd given anyone was a pearl necklace for Joanna, of course that was right before... he did best when not reminded of that incident. No he needed to concentrate because this gift would tell Sansa just what she meant to him, what he perceived her to be.

Looking over the different cuts, colors, and clarities was important, for being refined and polished didn't mean anything if the gem lost strength in the process. He wasn't a superstitious man by nature yet still followed that which had been passed down. He'd chosen pearls for Jo in that each piece held different energies; the original sediment holding a large sway on each pearl, the lacquer giving extra stability, and the ocean produced nurturing and healing aspects too. Sansa, however, was different than Jo for alike as they were.

"Which gems were you wanting to see in particular milord?" Lord Westerling brought him out of his reverie. Luckily he'd already had a good idea for which metal and gems were needed for this project. Sansa may have been a Stark by birth yet she was no wolf, saying she was a trout was inaccurate as well. Neither the typical Stark steel and Amber nor Tully bronze and Tanzanite felt appropriate messages. Sansa needed healing, but held a cold type of fury within which Amber would negate. Sansa was also born under a water sign making pearls appear obvious yet the unknown sediment might disrupt her frigid temper. She also speaks her mind when they are alone, nullifying Tanzanite too. 

"Peridot,"not quite as intense as Amber, still warm but not the sun incarnate. Sansa wasn't broken, bent and cracked mayhaps but not broken and peridot would quicken the healing process. She'd always bare the scars of Joffrey's cruelty but with time she'd come to see them as battle scars, a testament to her strength for there were grown men who detested the scars they bore. It would also bring her the strength to make most of her dreams reality, though he doubt there were many after everything she'd been through.

"Aquamarine," Sansa was like water. She adapted and changed to suit her situation, she'd held Cersei at a standstill though his daughter believed her a foolish child. She yielded, parroted their words, yet had remained resilient in the face of danger, hiding her true skills and grasping his hand to quell his anger despite the pain he could add to her existing ailments. He had learned to interpret her meanings, for at times words failed her despite being well spoken, and given clarity.

"Opal," needless to say she needed this most. Burning through old habits and patterns, consciously or no, for there were several that needed nipping; most of which revolved around her parents inability to understand her and Cersei's jealousy. She had been raised a trusting doe, a lamb ready for slaughter, why her parents thought it best to leave her with no knowledge of The Game left him both bereft and listless. He wasn't the greatest of parents, he could own that, but he had ensured they could survive, including Tyrion. Once these habits were disposed of it would magnify whatever joy Sansa managed to find and the opal's 'inner flame' mingling with Sansa's own. 

"Dragonsglass," Obsidian. Created from a dragon's flame melting the rock and sediment and cooling at a rapid rate. This was the most important piece for it was meant not for Sansa but himself. It's ability was to ground and cleanse but for him it meant something different. This was to remind him of how insignificant she made him feel. Cersei had been right about Sansa having wings but not the animal. Sansa from where he stood was no fragile bird. Instead he pictured a fierce, strong, intelligent and cunning Ice dragon. More dangerous than any of their fiery brethren, ice breath burning more than any fire.

Realization came whilst watching her handle Refrain and Dancer for the first time, her movements becoming swift and precise much like a dragon gracefully mastering aerial feats only dreamt of by Targaryen kings. As lessons progressed, both sword and wit, he could envision her soaring to the point she disappeared from view. Awe-inspiring to behold proving just how correct assessment had been as the days passed. The skies were the highest 'ground' that could be 'tread' and her habit of thinking of the small folk wellbeing despite him telling her 'A lion does not concern themselves with the opinions of sheep.' Mayhaps this is how Harren felt under Balerion's shadow. Inconsiquential.

"Metal?"

"Silver," he'd originally thought of gold, but like Amber it would negate Sansa's true nature, too bright and warm. Silver would magnify the energies housed within the stones and Sansa herself. It complimented cool toned skin more too, "make it triangular and give it hinges so that if she's wearing whilst fighting it will be less likely to break," he wanted to see her practice with it on. Very much so, "Have it done within the next three weeks," he needed it for their anniversary after all.

"Of course milord," the man groveled whilst exiting his solar.

Glancing toward the training yard he spied Blackfish find ways for her improve even more upon the speed and swift twirls that left opponents dazed, Joy stepping aside breathless and dizzy. Once more the visage of an imposing dragon's shadow over took him, a shudder running down his spine. If Jo had been his equal then Sansa was more than he could ever hope to be.

 


End file.
